


warm like you

by Adertily



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: (it's melog), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Catradora adopt a cat, Christmas Fluff, Deck the halls with catradora fluff 2020, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Let's write another one shot that accidentally turns into three chapters, Modern AU, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, it's just very fluffy silly christmas stuff, mentions of Shadow Weaver's shitty parenting, oh my god they were roommates, this isn't beta read so i apologise for mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adertily/pseuds/Adertily
Summary: “Are you gonna help me with this or not?” Adora asks, rising onto her tiptoes so she can actually reach the top of the sodding tree that Catra had warned was gonna be too tall to decorate without a step ladder.“Not.” Catra replies from where she’s sprawled inelegantly over the couch. Her tail swaying languidly over the cushions.Adora huffs lightly. Before, and it’s with an uncharacteristic level of caution, slipping the white and gold bauble in place on a branch above her head. “That’s not very helpful.”“I never claimed to be,” Catra disputes, folding her arms. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted the tree, I didn’t sign up for any of this grunt work.”Adora, ironically, grunts like she’s finally accepting the refusal. Which is a shame really, because Catra doesn’t think it would have taken much more for her to have rolled her eyes and joined her.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 345





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you gonna help me with this or not?” Adora asks, rising onto her tiptoes so she can actually reach the top of the sodding tree that Catra had warned was gonna be too tall to decorate without a step ladder.

“Not.” Catra replies from where she’s sprawled inelegantly over the couch. Her tail swaying languidly over the cushions.

Adora huffs lightly. Before, and it’s with an uncharacteristic level of _caution_ , slipping the white and gold bauble in place on a branch above her head. “That’s not very helpful.”

“I never claimed to be,” Catra disputes, folding her arms. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted the tree, I didn’t sign up for any of this grunt work.”

Adora, ironically, _grunts_ like she’s finally accepting the refusal. Which is a shame really, because Catra doesn’t think it would have taken much more for her to have rolled her eyes and _joined_ her.

The TV’s on, Catra’s not watching, it’s mostly just background noise at this point because she’s certain anything entertaining in this room won’t be found on the screen. Because, a; she’s pretty sure the ornament Adora’s just picked up is made of glass, and b; it’s _Adora._

_On her tiptoes._

It also doesn’t fucking hurt that occasionally, when Adora's arms raise, the hem of her sweater lifts _just so_ and Catra gets a view of the taut flesh of her abdomen that has her mouth turning dry. Rolling hills and valleys of _muscle —_ and she doesn’t want it to be so unreasonably stunning. But it _is_. Because... well, refer back to point _b_ (she’s not ready to say it so bluntly yet).

It’s not an unexpected sight. Adora’s been on some track team or other pretty much from the moment she could walk. It was one of the few extracurriculars Weaver granted because it was a ‘constructive and valid use of their time’.

Catra hadn’t understood, at first, how running could give someone _abs_. Until Adora had dragged her out the front door one day in sneakers and yoga pants, and Catra had wound up panting with stitches like fire just under her ribcage. The vow to never do it again was burning just as brightly.

Catra presses her cheek into the backrest of the couch, feeling the skin there heat up, because she doesn’t need Adora to see this while the room is cold enough that her own breath is visible. While there would really be no valid excuse for _blushing_ right now.

_Maybe if we hadn’t gotten such a laughably huge tree we would've had a chance at keeping the apartment above freezing this month._

Adora must have caught her grumbling into the cushions because she’s suddenly asking, “why do you hate Christmas so much anyway? You got a personal vendetta against Santa Clause for never visiting the home or something?”

It’s a fair question, she’s not really sure how Adora ended up so oppressively festive while Catra’s like _this,_ considering they were raised in exactly the same household.

“I don’t know. I can help feeling like it’s all just a bit, like… imperialistic, I guess.” Catra shrugs. ”And anything that was ever genuine about the whole thing has been leached out and plastic, capitalist bullshit shoved in its place.” She’d worked retail last January, she’d witnessed the influx of gift returns. It was nauseating. “It’s just stupid.”

“Aww. You’re so cute when you're grouchy.” She hears Adora say, and Catra realises she’s scrunched up her own nose in that way Adora had once described as like a bunny rabbit. Normally she’d glower, but—

Catra’s attention darts toward her immediately. Adora’s still busying herself with the tree — which is a help, because this time, when Catra lets her face smush into the back of the couch, it’s because her eyes have gone watery. _God damn it_.

It’s a perfectly innocent comment. More so for the fact, and no matter how much Catra wishes otherwise, she means it entirely _platonically._

She wants to scream into the cushions a little (a lot). But she thinks Adora will send her to an asylum or something for being incapable of explaining _why._ And that’s no way to spend the holidays; not that either of them have much of a baseline of what that should be, in all honesty.

Christmas wasn’t really a _thing_ at Weaver’s. Trees definitely weren’t, and apart from the mandatory set up in the school library or the centrepiece of the mall, they’d never actually had one to sit beside.

Evidently, Adora’s trying to make up for that this year. Like, all of it, at once. (Catra’s actually slightly worried the tree’s gonna fall over from the weight of everything Adora’s crammed on there, and it looks messy as shit)

But.

Adora’s _smiling._ The lights reflect in playful colours as they flicker in her eyes, and the room smells like pine and the woods they used to escape to as kids.

So, she thinks she can let her grievances go for a minute.

“Hey, you okay?” Adora says, in that soft way she does what she’s just acknowledged something might be wrong and she’s already apologetic she hadn’t noticed _sooner._

“Yeah,” Catra’s voice cracks, she clears her throat before promising, “I’m fine.”

Adora moves across the room, joining her on the couch and picking up Catra’s ankles so she can sit, placing them on her lap instead. Catra’s more than a little bit aware of the contact. The yoga pants she’s wearing stop midway down her calf so when Adora’s thumbs start to drum it happens straight against her skin. She forces herself not to flush.

“What do you think?” Adora gestures with one hand toward the fir that’s only gonna wilt and drop a million needles in a few weeks.

But it’s glowing and shining right now. “It looks great Adora, there’s no way that could _possibly_ be a fire hazard.”

Adora beams, either because she didn’t pick up on the sarcasm, or because she knows that half compliments are as good as it gets from Catra.

_You dork._

Catra slips her phone from the pouch pocket of her hoodie, trying to find a distraction from the fact her legs are in Adora’s lap right now, and there’s no way for her to remove them without being really freaking obvious about it.

They’ve always been touchy, affectionate, she doesn’t want Adora thinking she’s suddenly uncomfortable with this, because she _knows_ Adora will think she’s done something wrong. That she’s damaged them, somehow.

But it’s not that kind of _uncomfortable._ And Catra’s certain this kind might actually be worse _,_ because damage can heal — bruises fade and scratches turn to scars, she knows, they’ve been there before.

Wanting _more_ though, when she’s sure Adora doesn’t share that sentiment, is borderline perilous.

Primarily because Adora’s her oldest friend, her _best_ friend, and the heartache would likely be the death of her. Sidelined is the acknowledgement that if this blew up while they’ve only been roommates for a fragile few months, Catra would have nowhere else to go.

See, Adora has other friends. Catra’s part of the same social group sure, but only ever as Adora’s _plus one_. Catra’s tolerated, _endured_. But Adora, she had options, she’d been _invited_ even, and Catra can’t really understand why Adora had chosen her anyway. Probably because she knew Catra was gonna end up alone otherwise.

_Ageing out of the system is a fucking bitch._

She realises she’s been staring blankly at her home screen for the last minute when Adora taps against her lower leg, and Catra’s eyes drift upward.

She finds her friend still staring at the tree, like a corvid with its eye stuck on some shiny thing. Adora’s voice is quiet when she says, “I just want things to be different this year. Better. Now that we’re free to do what we want without anyone holding us back.”

Catra replies slowly, one eyebrow hiked, “okay?”

Adora swivels, facing Catra now, one arm actually draping over the length of Catra’s shin. She tries not to visibly swallow. “I know this whole tree thing was really self-indulgent of me, but I want us to have that, to be allowed that. And I want _you_ to have that too.”

“Uh,” Catra’s jaw loosens like she’s trying to answer a question without knowing what it is she’s being asked.

“We have control of our own bank accounts now, Catra,” Adora points out, as though it’s some sort of revelation. “Our own apartment, our own lives. We could literally go crazy with all the stuff we wanted as kids that always failed to turn up under the non-existent tree. There must have been something you wanted, some stupid thing you wished for every year.”

Catra can feel her heartbeat thumping in her chest. The only honest answer she can think of is _you._

Always, every year, constantly. _You._

Catra averts her eyes — wanting is hard when you’ve taught yourself over a lifetime how _not_ to. The big things she can recognise, because they’re blinding and loud and demand to be felt. The smaller things, however, are so quiet at the back of her mind she’s not even sure they exist anymore.

It’s funny. Wanting Adora had started off that way too.

"I think you're forgetting said bank accounts are practically running on empty right now."

Adora rolls her eyes all too fondly, and that’s not _helping,_ Catra thinks. “If that’s supposed to be snark over how much I spent on the tree, I’d like to remind you of the months I endured walking to work just so I could avoid the bus fee. I saved up for that tree. Purposefully.” Adora reminds her, and Catra’d been fully aware because she’d been smitten with the dedication the whole time.

Adora continues. “And anyway, it doesn’t have to be some big or expensive thing, it could be, I don’t know, stuffing your face with chocolate because she’s not around to scold you for it. Or maybe one of those giant stuffed polar bears they have at the store right now—”

Catra raises an eyebrow. “You literally just said it didn’t have to be big, doesn’t ‘giant bear’ kinda negate that?”

Adora scoffs heatlessly. “It can be whatever you want, that’s the point. Something Weaver wouldn’t have allowed, something wasteful and ridiculous and _beautiful.”_

Catra’s jaw sets, not tightly — but thoughtful.

She’s never been one for wanting _things,_ not really, not beyond what she indisputably _needs._ Stuff can be broken or lost or thrown away. And it’s not _things_ that make her smile, that make her feel warm the way Adora does.

Perhaps if she actually had any hobbies she could splurge a little on them. Collect a few more sketchbooks like the one abandoned on her bookshelf, still full of white, empty pages. Because as much as she’d tried, her hands seemed incapable of resurrecting what Shadow Weaver had killed.

See, drawing was not something she’d considered ‘constructive or valid.’

And too many sketches had ended up kindling for the fireplace.

“Hey,” Adora prompts, apparently noticing Catra’s attention had fallen back to the screen in her hands. “Stop glaring at your phone like that it’s gonna give you eye strain.”

Catra pulls her legs from Adora’s lap. She can handle the contact to an extent, but what isn’t fair is having Adora _fuss_ over her like that. She tries to ignore the way Adora’s fingers brush over the skin of her ankles as she does so. “I’m fine.”

“You’re gonna get a headache,” Adora argues, _stern_. “I don’t understand why you won’t wear your glasses.”

One of Catra’s ears flickers like a lion swatting away a fly, as though that’s supposed to be answer enough. “Because they look ridiculous, and because I can read perfectly fine, thank you.”

Adora huffs a little. “Yeah, so long as you’re squinting.”

And look, this? This attentive, _caring_ Adora? Is the exact reason she has these _feelings_ problems in the first place, among other things, obviously, _of course_. Aforementioned abs, for example.

“I’m fine, Adora.” And it’s only true because she’s looking _through_ her phone more than she’s trying to read anything on it.

Adora’s silent for a minute.

Catra takes the moment to actually open up the stupid dating app she’d instaled in a desperate attempt to get over _this,_ but then Adora’s standing and the weight over the cushions shifts while Catra’s left feeling like she should have been a tad less argumentative.

Because now Adora’s _leaving._

Her legs tuck up against her body, and she lets the phone fall back into her pocket. Footsteps pad down the hallway toward the bedrooms and then the apartment falls silent. And cold. It’s always so _cold_ in here.

Frost’s gathering on the windows, she notices, and the tree is _nice,_ pretty. White and gold seems to be a theme, Catra probably would have chosen red, honestly- _  
_

Adora reappears in the living room, and it’s hard to miss her because she’s suddenly kneeling in front of where Catra’s sat.

She flinches back when Adora’s hands are suddenly moving toward her face, stilling, but then she realises she’s holding her glasses, and Catra doesn’t wiggle away as Adora delicately places the frames in place over her ears.

"There," Adora says. The glasses are new, relatively, the headaches were not. Weaver had never cared to investigate the problem, but when Adora had poked fun at how large the text was set on Catra’s phone screen, she’d quickly put the dots together. “They do not look ridiculous, they’re cute and they’re hip, and I don’t want you getting headaches.”

Catra actually swallows, she hopes Adora doesn’t notice. “I can’t believe you actually used the word ‘hip’, you nerd.”

Adora’s eyes roll, but she’s smiling. “You’re the one wearing glasses.”

“You just told me you thought they were cool!”

"Don't dish out insults if you can't take them, babe," Adora rises, making a clicking noise with the corner of her mouth that she knows Catra finds aggravating beyond all get out. But Catra’s distracted, and her eyes are going wide. While Adora casually, oh so _casually_ , turns to look back at her handiwork surrounding the tree, before announcing, “I think we should go for a walk. Look at the Christmas lights around town.”

Catra can actually feel her pulse in her throat. It’s _thumping._ The last few vertebrae of her tail twitching as she tries to calm herself.

But Adora, and it’s very on theme for her, seems unaware of the consequences of what she’s just said. Like it was nothing. Like it _meant_ nothing. Just some casual back and forth, because that’s all this would ever be.

“No,” Catra replies, folding her arms around herself. (To fend off the cold, she’ll pretend.)

Adora, honest to god, _pouts._ “Why not?”

It’s not adorable, it’s _not._

“Because it’s practically sub-zero out there. Do you want me to get frostbite?” She flutters an ear for emphasis.

“You could wear a hat, or ear muffs?"

Catra shakes her head. “I can’t. They’re uncomfortable — you can't just pin them down like that, they're sensitive."

She hears Adora hum, like she’s trying to figure out a solution. “What if we just really loosely wrapped a scarf around your head?”

“Adora—”

“It could work.”

Catra narrows her eyes. “I am _not_ gonna skip around town with you looking like a _grandma_.”

* * *

“You’re a very pretty grandma,” Adora tells her as the walk, breath catching in the cold of the air like a steam train.

“Shut up.” Catra shoves at her shoulder, earning a snorted laugh from her friend. _But actually, please, please shut up, it_ hurts.

She'd left the glasses at home, because she's really not gonna wear them unless she absolutely has to, and she slips the scarf down to sit around her neck when she acknowledges that maybe it's not actually _that_ cold.

And perhaps it’s worth it for the way Adora lights up brighter than anything they find along the street.

Catra accepts, while she’s watching the way the glow of it dances over her friend's eyes like starlight, that this unfathomable, uncontrollable thing that's growing in her chest is going to _ruin_ them.

She can’t let that happen.

Adora must notice Catra’s mood drop, she only drags her along the avenue for ten minutes before they’re heading back to their apartment.

But then Adora’s suddenly stopping. Saying, with a voice so soft Catra immediately recognises she’s not talking to her, “hey.”

Catra turns, realising Adora’s stopped a few paces behind, her eyes fixed down a dark alleyway, and that’s—

“Jeez, Adora, you wanna find a creepier place to stop?” She asks, hands shoved into her pockets, tail swaying near her feet. _Is this safe?_

Adora _kneels._ Catra’s a breath away from cursing at her when she notices the cat Adora’s now holding a hand out toward in greeting.

_Huh._

It’s a tabby — she thinks it’s ginger but its hard to tell in the dark as it pads across the tarmac. Bumping it’s forehead into Adora’s touch.

“Hey, baby.” Adora coos, whispered. “I hope you have a nice warm home to get back to.”

“I’m sure he does. He’s got a collar.”

Adora frowns. “What sain thing would voluntarily be outside in this weather?”

Catra sends her a look that reads somewhere between ‘really?’ and ‘you, you would, you dumbass’. But then she kneels, joining them.

“How do you know it’s a boy?” Adora inquiries.

The flash of his nametag under the streetlights hadn’t been hard to make out through Catra’s eyes. Her long-distance vision is fine, thank you, _sharp_ , even. “I don’t think many people would name a girl cat _Robert._ ”

“Robert?” Adora does this strange sort of grinning frown (it might be one of the most endearing things Catra’s ever seen, whatever) before checking the metal tag herself. “God, that’s awful. I’m so sorry your parents hate you.”

Catra snorts. Then, cautiously, she reaches out her fingers towards the tabby. Inviting.

She wasn’t intentionally trying to steal him away from Adora, but it works regardless.

He kinda… melts. Her hands move to scritch under a cheekbone and he leans into the attention so heavily she’s worried he’ll faceplant into the pavement if she pulls away. Her hands work in exactly the same spots Catra knows she loves, but won’t admit to anyone (she thinks Adora’s the only other person who’s ever found them).

The fur is soft against her fingertips like satin, and she understands, for a moment, why Adora loves it so much when she purrs.

Catra hums, absentmindedly admitting, “I want a cat.”

If it were possible to see exclamation marks pop up behind someone's eyes, she would have described Adora’s rection as exactly that. “Oh my god!”

Catra’s forehead creases for a beat, and then, “No.” She shakes her head. “No, we are not getting a cat, that was just— That wasn’t—.”

“Oh, come on, Catra. Please?” Adora blinks, and Catra might almost describe it as doleful. “That’s the first time you’ve admitted wanting something in _years_ and you’re just gonna shove it under the rug?” The sudden noise startles the tabby away into the shadows again, and a moment of Adora looking remorseful passes before she’s wide-eyed facing Catra again.

Catra stands, hands back in her pockets, huffing. “Do you have any idea how expensive pets are?”

“We could make it work.” Adora follows onto her own feet. “We could get one from a shelter, it would be cheaper that way!”

Catra groans, her eyes shooting directly upwards for a second. “It’s not the initial cost that’s the problem.”

Adora shrugs. “I don’t need a bus pass. I think I proved that.”

“Adora.”

She’s continuing anyway. “We could sell the dining table — it’s not like we ever actually use it.”

“Adora!” She grabs her friend roughly by the wrists, looking directly into her eyes with enough intent she hopes it will kill this before Adora lets it spiral into something logic can’t subdue. “We are not getting a cat!”

Adora blinks at her, and then says, simply, “okay.”

One of Catra’s eyebrows raise. “Okay?”

“Mmhmm.” She nods, smiles innocently (that should have been a sign, really) and then pulls Catra by the hand to get them walking.

Naturally, Catra’s a little too dazzled by the contact to pay attention to anything else.

* * *

They curl into the couch when they get home. Mugs of hot chocolate keeping the palms of their hands warm. Except Catra’s hasn’t got any chocolate, or any milk, because she can’t _have_ either of those. Adora won’t change the name, because it’s the spirit of the thing, she explains — and it’s cozy and it’s _nice._

It’s the kind of comfy that threatens to make Catra purr.

Because it’s still a bit too cold, Adora arrives with a blanket draped over her shoulders and sits next to Catra like she doesn’t want an inch of space between them, repositioning the material to fold around both their bodies.

Catra does _not_ choke on her drink. “Uh, personal space is a thing.”

“Oh, sorry.” Immediately Adora shuffles away, and a chill seeps in where she left. “I wanted to keep you warm, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Catra sighs, and it takes effort to not let it become a groan. “I know, I’m sorry, that was asshole-ish.”

“No. No, it wasn’t. It’s good you’re sharing boundaries rather than snapping when someone oversteps. It’s good, I’m proud of you.” Adora promises, but it breaks Catra’s heart just a fraction because she’s never _wanted_ boundaries with Adora. And she doesn’t want Adora thinking she does.

“I could have said it nicer,” Catra says, soft, before removing the gap between their bodies again. Their thighs, like, _right up against one another._

Adora smiles, so she thinks it’s not unforgivable.

* * *

“What.” Catra begins, trying not to have an aneurysm five seconds after arriving home from work. “The fuck.” Her teeth grind. “Is _that_?”

Adora _beams_ at her. “It’s a cat!”

Said cat then _wails,_ which accurately sums up how Catra’s feeling right now too, she notes.

Adora’s sat on the floor, by the way she’s positioned it almost looks like she’s spent the last ten minutes trying to pull the poor thing out from under the couch. The cat is, amazingly, visibly _distraught_ as Adora picks the creature up under its armpits, holding it out toward her like that scene in the lion king. “I got him from the shelter. He’s a Russian Blue!”

Catra folds her arms. “He’s a’ goin back.”

“Catra.” Adora pouts, lowering the feline back onto the floor and letting him loose. He crawls under the couch immediately.

“I’m serious!”

Adora observes her for a few moments, seemingly wondering if Catra’s gonna give, but her arms don’t unfold. Her best friend’s voice is more sincere when she admits, slumping mildly where she’s sat, “they were gonna put him down tomorrow.”

Catra growls, low and rumbling in her chest, pointing an accusatory figure toward her friend. “That is _not_ fair.”

“It’s true. He’d been there for three months already. Nobody wanted him.” It’s always amazed her how Adora could go from mournful to bright-eyed at the drop of a hat, it’s a facade, she’s always thought. “So I figured he’d fit in perfectly with us!”

The cat wails again from his hiding place.

“This is gonna be a disaster,” Catra says, and Adora’s smile widens when she takes that for the acceptance she knows it is.


	2. Chapter 2

Catra slinks into her own room later that evening, it’s a force of habit whenever Adora, completely unprompted, fixes up dinner for the both of them like some dutiful, _caring_ thing. Catra doesn’t often return the gesture, mostly because, as shit as Adora’s cooking is, Catra’s aware her own is _shittier_. And she’s not gonna subject either of them to that.

But, Adora _looking after her_ , making sure she eats when she gets in from work, even if it is as modest as ramen, has her feeling all inconvenient kinds of warm.

So, she’s hidden.

Because sometimes Adora’s a little too kissable and she thinks she’s either gonna do something foolish or end up embarrassing herself by _whining_ if she stays in the same room for too long _._

Unfortunately, Adora’s aware of _none_ of this. And after a mere ten minutes of peace, Catra’s bedroom door is swinging open and Adora’s back is flopping down on her mattress like it’s her own. Catra thinks the only reason Adora doesn’t wiggle closer and rest her head on her lap in that way that used to be normal for them but would definitely make Catra squeak, is because Catra’s legs are tucked up with a laptop perched on the hill of her thighs.

It’s a respite that she’d pulled the comforter up to her waist to keep warm. While there’s a barricade between their bodies, they can’t be touching, technically. So she doesn’t have to worry about flushing. (It’s becoming an inconvenience, honestly, truthfully.)

And she gets it, she _knows_ this is tragic, ridiculous, whatever you want to call it.

But it’s also _okay._

Because wanting, but not having _more_ is so much better than not being allowed any of Adora at all. She’s not gonna be greedy about this, she has no right to be, but she’s gonna be content to take whatever Adora’s willing to give her.

“He needs a name,” Adora says, staring at the ceiling.

 _The cat. Right, we have a_ cat _now._

Catra keeps her eyes on the screen and not at the way her friend looks super duper comfy amongst her bedding. “Not Robert.”

“No.” Adora agrees.

The feline in question has disappeared into the depths of the apartment, found some cave to dwell in and made it their home, like some gremlin, or—

_Huh._

"What about Melog?" Catra suggests playfully.

"Aw, that's kinda cute,” Adora turns to look at her, tilting her head like a puppy. “Where’d you get that?"

One side of Catra’s mouth grins. "It's golem spelt backwards."

"Catra!” Adora glares at her, smiling anyway, it’s a strange mix of expressions but it’s cute anyway, and it’s clear she’s _trying_ to be serious. “We are not calling our cat _Golem._ "

"No. You’re right, we're calling him Melog."

Adora rolls her eyes, _still_ smiling. "You're incorrigible."

“I mean, you got him for _me_ right?” She smirks. “I think I should be allowed to name my own cat whatever I want.”

“Says the magicat that had to survive highschool with a name like _Catra_.” Adora’s eyes roll. “And sure, I got him for you, but don’t think I’m just gonna roll over if there’s any disputes over custody. He’s my baby too.”

Catra blinks.

Her smile dies, it’s a _horrid_ thought, honestly, and it makes her a little nauseous to think there might be some stage of their future where they won’t be _together_ anymore. Catra returns, a little bit pale, to looking at her computer screen, pretending she’s busy.

She’s clingy religiously onto the _if_ Adora had used _._ While Adora’s humming something Catra thinks she can distinguish as a Christmas song but she’s not got the mental capacity to figure out which one right now.

And then Adora asks, “hey, what about something Christmas themed?”

Catra’s on autopilot, and she didn’t really mean for the suggestion to be so snarky, it just kinda happens, “what about pinecone?”

Adora lets out an unholy snort. “Or fir, get it? Because he’s got fu—”

A phone chimes, and then Adora sits up to search through her pockets for it, it’s in the back of her jeans but Catra grabs it before Adora can.

“It’s Scorp,” Catra notifies, her friend not even bothering to snatch the device back, as though they’ve never had anything to hide from each other. Catra taps in the passcode, because she _knows_ it.

Today, 10:16 PM.

Scorpia: hey! :)

me and trapta are going ice skating saturday evening

wondered if you guys wanna join?

:)

Catra passes the phone back over. “She wants to know if you’d be interested in skating Saturday.”

“Aw, dang,” Adora replies, frowning at the message. “I’m working all weekend.”

Catra shrugs. “The rink will be up all month, I think. You could reschedule.”

“I don’t want to disrupt their plans,” Adora explains. “But you should go, maybe we can go as a bigger group some other time.”

Catra just shrugs. She doesn’t think Adora’s cottoned onto the fact their friends, Scorpia especially, only ever invite Catra to be _polite_ ; because they live together, and it would be really uncivilised to just ignore her from plans. As much as they probably would rather she just _not_. (She ends up declining most of the time anyway, so she thinks she’s not letting them down too much)

Adora, foolishly, is the only person who’s ever really _wanted_ her. The person who makes sure she’s included and _okay_ , and not left silenced on the sidelines.

Her heart _aches._

Catra nudges Adora with her foot under the bedding, she needs Adora to leave or she might end up curled up in her lap. And she’s certain that would be _mortifying_. “Isn’t it your bedtime, don’t you have to get up at five in the morning?”

Adora frowns. “Oh, yeah, you’re probably right.” She starts glowering at her phone, Catra has a suspicion it’s the clock, specifically. “I don’t wanna go to bed.”

“Five am, Adora.”

She pouts, then huffs in defeat. “G’night I guess.”

Catra replies, quiet, after her bedroom door has closed behind her friend’s silhouette, “good night.”

She waits until she hears Adora padding down the hallway and into her own bedroom before she moves, climbing out of her nest of bedding and cosying against where Adora’s scent is still present over her comforter. Face ungracefully nestling into it, she’s careful not to destroy the trace with her own, just allowing herself to drink it in.

Her perception of the light in the room changes, an indication that’s not lying that her pupils have dilated.

And yeah, she gets it, she _knows_ this is tragic, _pathetic_ , whatever you want to call it.

And it’s really fucking not _okay._

* * *

It’s close to midnight when her door creaks open. And yes, it is, _appropriately_ startling. Her whole body might fluff up in defence before she remembers they have another creator living with them now, but she’s not gonna recount that bit when she tells Adora in the morning.

She’s only awake because she has an evening shift tomorrow, she needs to sleep till late morning to not feel like shit mid way through working.

Her eyes are bleary as they meet the glassy red tint of a reflection from her bedside lamp. It’s kinda creepy, she _might_ mention that bit. Another tick on the list of why this is a bad idea.

“Alright, grouchy man,” she says slowly, quietly. “What do you want?”

He’d not made much noise all afternoon apart from the (tiny, barely noticeable — Adora had argued) _wailing_ that echoed through their flat every ten minutes as reliable as a metronome, but the silence and the staring now makes her shift awkwardly.

“Dude,” she might hiss at him, maybe he’d understand that better. But, remembering back to the pity party Adora had thrown to convince Catra he deserved to stay, she thinks better of it, and instead—

She blinks at him, slow and languid.

And then she flinches because he’s suddenly jumping up onto the foot of her bed. _Curling up_ , even.

“Adora’s bed is warmer.” She informs him, though by the flicker of his ear, he doesn’t seem to care. It’s a calamity that she even has that information tucked away.

Catra scrambles out of bed then, huffing as she closes the door properly, because she’s never been able to sleep with it ajar.

“If you get zoomies in the middle of the night I won’t hesitate to kick you out,” she says as she climbs back under the bedding, but he is, and it’s unexpected when she hears it, _purring._

And to make him move now would be a sin.

* * *

Catra wakes, not to the sound of her alarm but to the weight of the purring mass that’s sat directly atop her ribcage. “Melog, I can’t breathe with you like that,” she grumbles, her forearm draping over her eyes to block out the sunlight from her window.

He’s happy, evidently, that she’s awake now, because she feels the vibrations through the thin lining of her nightshirt. “I thought you were supposed to be some horrid, unwantable thing.” Catra snorts, but it might be a little bit watery because she’s pretty sure she’s called herself that on her worst days. She lifts her arm off slowly, the sunlight doesn’t sting this time. “Look at you, this isn’t fair. Do you need breakfast, is that what this is?”

His green eyes are boring straight into hers, he blinks a few times, as though that’s supposed to mean something.

Then, Catra groans. “You’re going to _ruin_ us financially, do you know that?”

He has the audacity to _trill._

* * *

Adora arrives and stands stock still by the door for a few seconds, probably because a; Catra’s cooking and that’s an unusual enough sight on its own, but b; she also has the cat. Perched on her _shoulders._

He’s draped over the length of them, watching with curiosity where her hands are working, and she imagines Adora’s gone slack jawed behind her because she’d spent most of yesterday evening trying to even get close enough to _touch._ While the cat’s now lounging, tail drooping and loose, like he’s set and secure at the highest point of a stone tower. Just watching the world.

Catra smirks to herself, raising a clumsily diced section of onion for him to sniff, laughing as he sneezes and shakes his head a little. “Hey ‘dora.”

“How did you…?” She’s approaching now, discarding her bags by the entryway.

Catra shrugs. Melog only wobbles a _little_ , but she reminds herself not to do that again. “You gotta give them at least a little time to settle before you go grabbing at them, dude.”

Adora pouts, but it fades a second later. Because when she reaches an arm toward him now, the feline rubs a cheek happily over her knuckles. She lets out a little breathy laugh then. It’s cute, _melodic_ , and Catra hums so the pressure doesn’t come out as something embarrassing instead.

“What are you two making anyway? Can I help?” Adora asks. Catra’s not sure if the offer is genuine, or if she means _please let me salvage this_ , but she gestures towards the pan on the stove while her hands continue chopping veggies.

Given the crampedness of their kitchen, it’s an _unfortunate_ proximity. Their arms keep brushing. Catra regrets the decision within minutes; she feels red faced, but maybe she can blame that on the heat of the stove (that wouldn’t be fair though, because the thermostat hasn’t budged and it’s still cold as _fuck_ in here).

“Hey, can I put some music on?” The question isn’t awkward, Adora’s not trying to fend off the silence, she just _prefers_ noise.

But Catra’s all graceless when she squeaks out, “sure.”

The thing is with music, that while Adora’s always been more comfortable with something on in the background, something to hum absentmindedly too, she also likes to purposefully sing sometimes. And she’s goddamn awful at it.

Catra’s okay, she thinks, mediocre at best. She tries _not_ to, but Adora will lead Catra to the point where she’s warm, laughing and rolling her eyes — and then it’s hard to _stop_ herself joining in.

Thing is though, mere moments after starting, it’s no longer a duet.

Because Adora forgets herself. She _stops._

_Listens._

They’d never done this much in the home, Weaver didn’t approve of the noise.

But in the park, on the walk home from school, the car — on those precious few trips they’d been allowed to borrow it. Adora used to pause, quieten, just so she could listen to Catra sing without it hidden behind her own voice.

Naturally, it was the most assured way to make Catra stop too.

To have someone’s attention like that, like it was something people would even _want_ to hear, and to witness Adora’s eyes get that stupid, sparkly look that meant Catra had to playful shove her face away just so she could breath normally again. It was _devastating._

But it’s hard to grumble when you’re smiling, she’s learned.

* * *

It’s two days later when it happens. Two _nights_ later, technically, but Catra wakes with the heavy lump of Melog over her torso as the only precious source of heat while the rest of the room is arctic.

Her whole body is _shivering._

She reaches out to flick the bedside lamp on, but nothing happens aside from Melog growling softly at her movement, the room’s still in shadow bar the streetlight worming its way through her blinds.

Catra groans, sitting upright. Melog’s eyes catch hers and he seems as annoyed by the situation as she is. “Fuck.”

She pads on bare feet towards Adora’s bedroom, the cat a bundle in her arms and her own bedding draping like a cloak around her shoulders. Her ears tell her Adora’s still sleeping, and she thinks the only reason for that is because Catra’s always had a lower tolerance to cold than she has, a few added extremities to deal with, and unfortunately her fur’s never been a _help_ the way she wishes it was right now. There’s also the fact Adora sleeps like a log.

A very warm, comfy log.

But Adora wakes to the sound of her door creaking open.

“Catra?” It’s all sleepy, _worried,_ as her friend blinks drowsily from where she’s starting to perch up against the headboard.

Catra pauses, _hesitates_ , and then, “is the offer to keep me warm still on the table?”

She observes as Adora acknowledges the situation, the tremble in her own limbs, breath that’s icy as it leaves her lungs and hits the air. Adora _keens_. “Dickwads shut us off again, I thought I’d sorted that payment out already.”

It’s not the first time this has happened. But every other occurrence had been fortunate enough not to leave them stranded in the middle of _winter_ , they’d made do before.

“You got Melog?” Adora asks, her voice still drowsy; she hadn’t taken long to come around to the name.

“Yep.” Catra shifts her arms up, showcasing.

She lifts up a corner of her comforter, inviting with no hesitation whatsoever. “C’mere.”

The door shuts with a click as Catra leans a hip into it, then she’s relocating toward Adora’s bed and convincing herself that trying not to get hypothermia can outrule any accidental snuggling as purely medical, purely _platonic._

Melog settles at the foot of the matress when he’s released. Catra immediately rearranges the layers of bedding so they’re insulated in a heap of cotton and down and _body heat_ , and then she curls against her best friend. Adora feels like a hot water bottle, and she sighs as Catra joins her, like maybe she does too.

“‘m sorry it’s cold,” Adora says.

“It’s not your fault,” and if she’s being sincere, she’s a little bit _delighted_ at this turn of events.

Adora yawns, her eyelids blinking shut like she’s trying not to let them, “I should have paid the thingy.”

“This would probably happen twice as often if I was in charge of bills, don’t sweat it.” They pay an even split between them, but the charges come straight out of Adora’s account. “Why’s it always gotta be you keeping track of things anyway?”

Catra meant it fondly, but Adora’s all serious, and half asleep, when she replies, “I wanna look after you.”

Catra stares at her, wide eyed, while Adora’s are very much _closed._ And the way her voice had drifted at the end there was _telling_ , and she’s pretty sure the conversation’s just been ended for them.

“Good night, Adora,” she says, smiling, smitten, _ruined_ for anyone else in the whole universe.

But Catra’s warm. And for now, at least, it doesn’t seem like there’s anywhere Adora would rather be either.


	3. Chapter 3

The bed-sharing arrangement sticks for a whole week. It’s weird (but not suspicious at all to Catra’s mind, evidently) that neither of them are in any particular _rush_ to solve the problem at hand.

The _problem_ being the bills, obviously. Catra wouldn’t classify what they’re doing — the _bed sharing_ — as an issue, per se. A liability maybe, but— _whatever._

Falling asleep bundled up under Adora’s sheets every night and waking to beams of dawn on her face and the presence of warm, strong arms wrapped around her torso, her friend nosing into the skin at the back of her neck, grumbling and groggy and all _Adora_ , should be the farthest thing from a _problem_ she’s ever experienced.

If not for the fact she’s falling more hopelessly in love with Adora every night. The way she _feels_ against her. The way she curls around Catra in her sleep like it’s her job to make her feel protected. The way she’ll sometimes reach a hand out across the mattress, tragically, _unconsciously_ , to maintain contact in some way during the rare moments that their bodies are distant. The way she talks even, though most of its intelligible nonsense, while her eyes are still heavy and she’s drifting in and out of dreams and Catra’s trying not to startle her awake by laughing too loud. As she watches, fond and _aching._

Melong blinks at her from the bottom of the bed when Catra wakes five, _five_ wonderful days into this arrangement, and all Catra can mouth in response is ‘shut up.’

He might have a point though.

* * *

It’s late afternoon on a Saturday when a text lights up her phone. Catra’s in the apartment alone; Adora’s at work, but Melog’s curled up over her toes and she’s streaming a movie on the laptop perched on her knees so she can survive the emptiness for a few hours longer. A blanket cocooned around her body and the pink of twilight touching the sky outside the windows.

She glances at the screen, wincing when the light is too bright on her eyes. The sun’s dropped significantly since she’d last looked at it, and the damn thing never adjusts on its own properly — but it’s a different culprit for her eyes squinting when she acknowledges the message waiting for her.

Today, 5:09 PM.

Scorpia: hey what time are you getting here?

Catra blinks at it for a moment before she types a cautious reply.

Today, 5:10 PM.

Catra: adora told you she couldn’t make it right?

Scorpia: yeah

she said she had a late shift

do you want us to meet you at the bus stop?

Catra: i don’t need babying you know

Scorpia: at the rink then?

entrapta wants me to tell you she got us snacks

:)

Catra: sure

i missed the first bus though so i might be a little late

Scorpia: no worries! see you there :D

Catra’s already scrambling to leave. (Melog glares at her when she bolts upright, but she can apologise for that later.)

* * *

“Hey,” she greets, a little breathy, as she approaches where Entrapta and Scorpia are sat at a bench already getting their skates on. Her hands shoved in her pockets to keep them warm and a scarf looped around her neck.

“Hey, wildcat” Scorpia beams at her, glancing up from neatly tying the laces in place.

Entrapta pushes something pink and fuzzy out toward her, “I got us cotton candy.”

“Uh, thanks, I can see that.” Catra takes a pinch, if only to be polite — super sugary foods have always been more of an Adora thing, but it’s nice, Entrapta’s being _nice,_ she acknowledges. Then, apprehensive, Catra glances around, “where’s everybody else?”

“This _is_ everybody,” Entrapta informs her, taking a giant bite out of the cloud of diabetes she’s holding on a stick.

Catra sends a look to Scorpia, assuming she’s the orchestrator of this cozy, little social event. She shuffles on her feet, one eyebrow raising a little. “You didn’t invite Glimmer and Bow?”

“Uh,” Scorpia actually looks _bashful_ , bending to readjust the laces that are inarguably _fine_ , “look, I love those two, they’re great, but they’ve always kinda felt more like Adora’s friends, you know?”

Catra frowns, not because she doesn’t agree with that statement, but because, “you invited _me_?” and she can’t contemplate the maths of that.

Scorpia looks up again, tilting her head a little. “Well, yeah, why wouldn’t we?”

Catra pauses, she’s worried her eyes are misting over. And then she shrugs. All casually, like it’s not a big deal _at all_. “Uh,” she clears her throat, “so, where do I go to get skates?”

* * *

Scorpia, it turns out, and despite looking like she should have the grace of a rhinoceros on the ice, is actually _good_ at this. Entrapta is a little bit clumsy with it, but she’s not close to falling over every five seconds like Catra is.

“God, I thought this was gonna be like dancing, why is this so—,” she sucks in a gasp as her foot slips and goes in a direction she doesn’t want it too. Scorpia laughs softly at her, nothing unkind about it, as she glides _backwards_ , the _asshole_ , holding onto Catra’s hands to help her balance.

“Stop trying to fight it so much, go _with_ it, let the skates do the work.”

Catra groans halfheartedly, “if I don’t fight it I’m gonna end up on the _floor_.”

Entrapta circles them, pointing to a nearby child that’s gripping onto the handles one of those upright penguins used like training wheels. You know, _for kids_. “We could get you one of those if you liked?”

Catra snorts, Scorpia _laughs,_ and Entrapta’s face lights up when she notices she’s made a joke.

“Aren’t cats supposed to be _good_ at balancing?” Scorpia mocks lightly.

“Yeah,” Catra agrees. “On the _ground,_ this is—” a foot slips out from under her again, her knee nearly hits the ice before Scorpia tugs her, easily, back upwards. “Ugh, it’s not like I’ve ever done this before.”

“Never?” Entrapta frowns.

Catra shrugs, and says, like it’s all the explanation needed. “Weaver.”

They don’t press, and she’s grateful for it — her and Adora’s childhood is no secret, but it’s not exactly something she’s comfortable talking about unless she _has_ to either.

It goes quiet between them for a few minutes, not awkwardly so, _thank god._ There’s christmas music coming from a speaker somewhere. Entrapta keeps circling and Catra thinks it’s making her dizzy, but then her attention’s back on her friend that's guiding her, as she begins to talk.

“My moms used to take me ice skating all the time. Hockey players.” Scorpia explains affectionately. “But sometimes they liked to play around with the lighter skates too and dance around on the ice together a bit, the bulky boots don’t really work the same.”

Catra gives a half smile. “You’re lucky, it must be nice to actually be any good at the stuff you like to do.”

“I guess.” Scorpia lifts her shoulders for a beat. “Skating is more their thing though, I’m still figuring out mine, and I’m sure I’ll be clumsy at it when I start. But that’s the beauty of being a beginner. Sometimes you just have to accept you’re gonna suck at things, and take it from there.” Scorpia smiles, and Catra’s certain there’s a flash of something disloyal, but strangely, still _kind_ behind her eyes.

Catra narrows her eyes at her. “What are you—?”

And then Scorpia lets _go_ of her.

All over again, she feels like a fawn on new legs, and she’s absolutely, definitely _not_ going to move her feet off the ground — tempting gravity seems antagonistic given that she’s now alone, _unbalanced_ , but the momentum they’d maintained carries her over the ice for a short distance. Before she glides, kinda awkwardly, to a stop.

She glowers at the taller girl who’s now beaming at her, traitorously now out of reach. “Scorpia! Get back here!”

“Come on wildcat, I was barely doing anything that last lap,” she encourages. “You got this.”

Catra glares, her tail swishing behind her. “This is _inhumane_.”

But, after a moment, she carefully, _carefully_ , pushes off. Just a test. It’s obvious Scorpia’s deserted her, and she’s at least got to venture toward the edge of the rink on her own unless she wants to be stranded here for hours in some futile test of stubbornness.

Her torso collides with the railing when she reaches it, the layers of clothing help to pad the impact and she lets out an ‘oof’. But she hadn’t fallen, she hadn’t even wobbled this time.

“See, I told you, you could do it!” Scorpia slides much more gracefully up beside her, grinning.

Catra tries not to send the expression back, but there’s something blooming in her chest that feels like pride, and it’s making it very difficult _not_ to.

* * *

She feels lighter, probably more so than she has in a long time, probably more so than _ever._ She’d be _skipping_ if she weren’t so tired now.

It’s late, the sky is pitchblack outside and the grass framing the sidewalk is starting to frost over. It’s pretty, she thinks.

They’d wandered around town after, the three of them, her _friends,_ weaving through the evening market stalls and pausing every time Scorpia went wide eyed at something. They’d not had dinner, technically, but Entrapta hadn’t been lying about the snacks, and her pockets seemed to have an endless supply that she’d thrust into Catra’s hands when her stomach started to rumble.

Adora’s shoes are by the entrance when she steps through the front door of their apartment, but the house is quiet, dark, which suggests her flatmate’s already in bed. Adora’s always had the sleep schedule of a grandma.

She peels her coat off, ticking her shoes soundlessly next to Adora’s before she walks down the hallway and into the bedroom that is temporarily _theirs._

Melog’s curled up in Adora’s arms. Both of them have their eyes closed as she observes, a shiver already building at the back of her neck from the cold that’s still lurking through the building like a fiend.

But there’s finally enough in their collective accounts now, they’re out of the red again, which means tomorrow a call will be made, the bills will be settled. And Catra will reluctantly withdraw back to her own bedroom.

She doesn’t change into her pjs, clothes are warmer. But she does noiselessly dig out one of Adora’s sweaters from her drawers, feeling dwarfed inside it after she’s tugged it over her head, before sheltering under the comforter with the rest of them.

Adora’s hand reaching out languidly towards her suggests she’d been at least half aware of Catra’s presence the moment she’d entered the room. Her friend mumbles something that sounds like her name, before letting out a content sigh, and Melog trills lazily in agreement.

“Hey, dummy,” Catra chuckles quietly.

Adora’s reply is all drowsy. “Did you have a nice day?”

Catra watches; Adora’s eyes don’t even open, not so much as a flicker as she talks. She’s not even sure if this will have solidified into a memory by the morning, or if it’ll just drift away. “Yeah.”

“‘s good.” Adora breaths, and by the way she goes silent after, Catra assumes she’s fallen _oh so easily_ back to sleep again.

Melog purrs, rolling their head to stare dolefully at her.

 _I know, buddy_ , she thinks, something deep within her ribcage turning heavy as she scritches behind his ear. _I’m gonna miss this too._

* * *

Catra rouses and discovers her body far too tangled in Adora’s.

Her friend’s sleeping face is inches from her own as Catra’s eyes flutter open. There’s an arm draped over the dip of her hip bone, it’s not holding, just resting their lazily — but both the sweater and the t-shirt underneath have hiked up Catra’s torso and it’s a few inches of hyper alert, bare skin right now.

She deciphers, by the way Adora’s chest is still rising, slow and steady, that it was probably a decision she’d made while submerged deep in a rem cycle. Unconsciousness is cruel, Catra decides then.

But it’s not where most of her awareness is flooding to.

Because.

Adora’s thigh?

Is tucked in between both of hers right now.

And she knows if Adora wakes up and finds them like _this_ with Catra wide eyed and breathless, that no alibi on the planet is going to save her.

She pulls away, carefully, _slowly_ , like she’s untangling wires for a bomb defusal. Just as tactfully debating the fact that crawling back in and pressing her body _closer_ to Adora is not the sensible decision right now, as much as her morning brain might like it to be.

Adora just lets out this soft, little hum as the only indication she’s registered the warmth pulling away. And then Catra’s withdrawing to the hallway, to the kitchen, to busy herself with packing lunch.

She lets out a shaky breath once she's on the safe side of Adora’s bedroom door.

Her ears spin then towards the sound of clinking under the lowest branches of the christmas tree. Melog’s up, evidently, and by the sounds of it, content to be swatting at an ornament he must have pulled down last night. But he doesn’t materialise to try to steal her lunch meats so she’s not gonna scold him for it.

She should have done this last night. Adora always does, forever the organised one, but it keeps her hands busy until she catches the muffled sounds of Adora waking.

It’s not choreographed, she tries to argue with herself, but she’s back in her own bedroom by the time Adora’s out of hers and heading towards the bathroom.

She fumbles out of the clothes she’d slept in because she should probably, definitely do that.

Then, when she’s done, she stares at the closed door for a minute like a pathetic thing with her hands flexing at her sides. There's a goddamn annoying blush that won’t leave her face alone. Likely, a palm full of cold water would help, but there’s an _Adora_ standing between her and the bathroom right now.

She checks her phone. She has maybe ten minutes until she inarguably needs to be out the door. Adora, she knows, has about five. (They’re disasters, okay, they _know_ that). Maybe she can just wait it out, stay in here, leave as soon as she hears the front door rattle the wall as it shuts behind her.

 _God this is so fucking stupid._ She grumbles to herself, before taking the leap and exiting her room.

Adora has a sandwich jammed in her mouth, rummaging hurriedly through the clutter in the kitchen, under the couch cushions, through coat pockets for _something._

“What did you lose this time, you dumbass?” She says it like throwing enough insults out into the world will kill off this crush that’s growing like a weed in her chest. It’s a wasted attempt. Because she’s aware Adora knows she uses them as affectionately as pet names.

“My keys,” Adora frets. “I have to _go_ and I can’t friggin find them.”

Catra blinks, tilting her head. _Perhaps…?_

Her feet carry her towards the tree and the cat that’s lurking in the shadows underneath, something metallic sticking out from underneath the fur of his belly as he glares at her.

“Sorry, Melog, I’m gonna have to confiscate those.” She reaches out for it, swapping the keychain with something just as sparkly that had been hanging on the tree. He seems satisfied with the trade.

She approaches Adora, now fumbling through the bowl near the entrance where they’re normally kept, or are _supposed_ to be, if Adora ever actually remembered to do that.

Catra dangles them like a lure in the air over Adora’s head. Her friend lets out a relieved sigh, stepping forward and reaching up for them.

“God, thank you, I really thought I was gonna be late.”

Catra rolls her eyes, “yeah, because that really would have been the end of the world.”

“What would I do without you, honestly,” Adora says, and then she’s, uh, getting _closer._

And here’s the thing; a _hug_ might have made her heart stumble a little, a kiss on the cheek would have definitely had her flushing red, but it would have been _forgivable._

But Adora’s — and it’s barely for half a second, and Catra’s counting because it’s the same length as her inaudible squeak — suddenly _kissing_ her. Like this is _normal_ for them, like they do it all the time, like it’s the most casual goodbye in the world.

And then she says, “I’ll see you later!” before disappearing out the door.

Catra stares at said door for an unhealthy amount of time, wondering how long it’s gonna take for Adora to click that she just _did that._

* * *

She’s not actually sure if it takes hours, or if Adora just doesn’t have a chance to message until her lunch break, but her phone lights up while Catra’s in the break room brewing her fourth coffee of the day. _It’s the holidays, alright, she deserves it._

Today, 12:58 PM.

Adora: Hey, Catra

She feels her heart thumping in her ribcage as she stares at the text. It’s unsettling in that way formality often is from a person who shouldn't be using it. Adora’s only like this when she’s unsure. When she feels like there’s something she should be _apologizing_ for.

She texts back, after her heart calms down enough to let her focus.

Today, 12:59 PM.

Catra: hi

Adora: So

Can we talk about what happened

Catra: how bout we don’t

Adora I’m really sorry if it made you uncomfortable

I didn’t mean to do that

I have no fucking clue why I did

It just kinda happened

Catra: okay...

Her fingers hover over the keyboard as she tries to settle the palpitations in her chest.

Today, 01:00 PM.

Catra: but did you _want_ it to happen?

Today, 01:00 PM (Adora is calling).

It startles Catra enough that she’s suddenly yelping, throwing the phone across the room where it lands with an unfortunate thump on the opposite wall before clattering to the floor. A co-worker scowls at her. She pays them no mind as she retrieves the device and dashes out of the building. She’d rather randoms on the highstreet overhear than anyone who’s gonna potentially tease her about this later.

She accepts the call once she’s outside, hands _shaking_. “Hi,”

 _“Hey,”_ Adora replies with just the same level of fluster in her voice.

Catra clears her throat. “Uh, so…?”

It seems to take Adora a moment to realise it’s a prompt, _“right, um, right,”_ she’s stuttering, she does that when she’s nervous, Catra knows. _“Were you... were you wearing my sweater last night?”_

Catra’s ears pin back, _since when was she supposed to be the one on trial here?_ “What has that got to do with anything?” _Probably a lot_ , but she’s not gonna admit that.

 _“Were you?”_ Adora repeats.

Catra grumbles, and slowly admits, “...maybe.”

Adora’s silent on the other side of the line for an uncomfortably long time, Catra starts to worry the call’s disconnected, before, _“I called up the electricity guys.”_ Adora begins. _“We should be all set, you can go back to sleeping in your own bedroom now.”_

“Oh,” Catra feels like she’s been doused in cold water, like a candle that’s been left outside on a rainy day. But she’s not gonna let the passersby on the sidewalk see her eyes well up.

_They’ve broken. She tried so hard and it’s not ever her fault but they’ve broken anyway._

_“I mean,”_ Adora continues, her voice unbearably soft now. _“Only if you_ wanted _to. I don’t mind if you’d rather… stay. It’s been, uh, it’s been kinda nice.”_ And then, she recites, like she hasn’t gotten her point across yet. _“You could_ stay _.”_

Catra counts her heartbeat as it echoes in her ears, her jaw loose as she tries to form a coherent response, eyes blinking rapidly.

Because it’s easy, she settles on a breathy, “yeah, okay.”

_“Yeah?”_

She nods, rubs a sleeve over her eyes, hiccuping quietly as she confirms. “Yeah.”

And she can practically feel Adora beaming through the phone.

* * *

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Catra hears Bow say, soft, looking up from where she’s sketching on the couch to find him doe eyed as he fawns over whatever he’s looking at, but it’s _suspicious_ , she notes, because he seems to be looking right at _her._ “You wear classes?” He sounds _smitten._

Catra glowers.

“Please leave my girlfriend alone,” Adora inputs as she shepherds their guests into the living room, with almost exactly the same tone in her voice that Bow had held. She’s trying to be stern, but the _development_ still won’t come out of her mouth as anything but fond. Rightfully.

Catra snaps her sketchbook closed, tucking it under the bottom of the couch in case someone feels like browsing. They’re still shitty, and that’s _okay_ , but she doesn’t want anyone to see just yet.

She moves then to help Adora set up the picnic rug that she’d dug out of a closet over the cheap carpet.

“We’re eating on the floor? Glimmer askes, not impolite, a bit amused, probably.

Bow cocks and eyebrow, glancing around the room. “Uh, what happened to your dining table?”

“Oh, you know,” Adora shrugs, setting the plates out, “we just figured we didn’t really need it.”

Glimmer shakes her head heatlessly, “sure, scrap your table right before you invite everyone over for christmas dinner, great plan.” But she releases the bag of contributions they’d brought into the center of the rug. Settling down to assist.

Catra hears Melog mewl then, turning her head to find him stretching as he paces out from underneath the tree. Bow instantly releases a soft gasp of, “kitty!” at the sight of him. The feline returns the sentiment in a trill as he approaches, forehead butting into shin.

 _Good, that’ll keep Bow occupied,_ she smirks.

The doorbell rings, Catra’s on her feet in an instant, listening to Glimmer’s chuckled voice behind her, she thinks someone’s probably scooped Melog up, “I can’t believe you two co-adopted a furbaby before you even realised you wanted to be together.”

Catra just rolls her eyes warmly.

“Wildcat!” Scorpia beams after Catra swings the door open, a huge tinfoiled dish in her arms that looks miraculously like the outline of a _whole turkey._ It would have been a workout to carry it up the stairs if it wasn’t, well, _Scorpia._

Entrapta’s peering over the taller girl’s shoulder, wearing a headband with antlers that have lights dancing all over them, her own arms full of heavy grocery bags. “We brought food!”

“Yeah,” Catra nods, bemused, “you sure did.”

“Where's the cat?” Entrapta asks, _prompts,_ before Catra steps aside and lets them in.

There’s a chorus of greetings, before everyone dissipates to sit around the picnic blanket. Melog now curled upside down like a baby in Entrapta’s arms.

They leave a space for her next to Adora, she notices.

It’s not exactly a cozied up around the fireplace sort of feel but it is _close._ Catra thinks it might actually be _better._

Glimmer starts serving, it’s a strange patchwork of a holiday meal. From the corner of her eye, she picks up Melog staring with a little too much intent at the turkey Scorpia’s just unveiled. But she doesn’t care. Adora arm ghosts around her waist and _holds_ , inviting, and Catra melts into her side. It’s still so _new_ that it takes her breath away.

She turns her head to find Adora watching her, eyes endearingly warm. “Did you get everything you wanted?” She asks, _quiet._ While the rest of their friends are chatty and cheerful around them.

She’s pretty certain as Christmases go, there is _no_ competition.

Catra nods.

And then Adora leans forward and _kisses_ her, unabashed, in front of _everybody._ Catra’s face turns scarlet, her ears pinned back as their friends coo at them.

But it’s hard to grumble when you’re smiling, she’s learned.

**Author's Note:**

> @adertilys-quill on tumblr if you want to interact


End file.
